Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

                                       The Petrograd Paradigm

He has more than a touch of Komarovsky
Loyal to nothing but his appetites
Cigars, sensualties, sins, and souls
All of them casually disposable

He gives more than a touch of Komarovsky
He whips the dogs, and tests the snow to know
If it blows from the east or from the west
And throws his latest values to the wolves

He takes more than a touch of Komarovsky
Asking the oldest question: “What’s in it for me?”

There is a certain shock, not from the silence itself
But of its revelations, the laying bare
Of the utter superfluence of language
In all which unfolds before us, the testament mute
But imbued with all the power of an orchestra
In full-throated fortissimo
Delivered through the panorama of the vast steppes,
The bounty of their Junes,
The desolation of their Januarys
The visage of the doomed Strelnikov,
The darting glances of the chameleonesque Komarovsky,
His eyes scuttling to and fro like dark cockroaches,
And most of all by the unquiet, not-of-this world gaze
Of Yuri Andreyevich, a stare which tells tales
Of how fleeting this world's happiness will be,
How final and inescapable its sadness,
And as he stumbles and falls in his mad, final pursuit
Of a grail which is unheeding, unseeing,
Always just a step out of reach,
The dialogue is not a necessity,
For we have a trove of our own words and experience
To attest to the veracity of the scene in question.

Komarovsky knows better
Than Pasha
What Lara wants.
There is no need
To hide the truth
It doesn’t tremble
- An ashy ******
    In the dark.

But Pasha only loves
The untouched lie
Like Narcissus
He is drowning  
In the the illusion
That the rippled
Waters provide.

And you Persephone
You’ve read this book
Know this script
But still you look
For the daffodil
In Hell.

You’re a prospector - my love
You’ll spend your life
Chasing hope
Corianding for nuggets
Amongst the dross
   -And it will seem
    When something gleams
    That you have won
But it is only pyrite
That the rippled waters provide.

Until today I have never re-posted someone else's work on my modest site. This is brilliant:

W. K. Kortas
JUNE 22, 2021

ON WATCHING “DOCTOR ZHIVAGO” WITH THE SOUND OFF

On Watching “Doctor Zhivago” With The Sound Off
There is a certain shock, not from the silence itself
But of its revelations, the laying bare
Of the utter superfluence of language
In all which unfolds before us, the testament mute
But imbued with all the power of an orchestra
In full-throated fortissimo
Delivered through the panorama of the vast steppes,
The bounty of their Junes,
The desolation of their Januarys
The visage of the doomed Strelnikov,
The darting glances of the chameleonesque Komarovsky,
His eyes scuttling to and fro like dark cockroaches,
And most of all by the unquiet, not-of-this world gaze
Of Yuri Andreyevich, a stare which tells tales
Of how fleeting this world’s happiness will be,
How final and inescapable its sadness,
And as he stumbles and falls in his mad, final pursuit
Of a grail which is unheeding, unseeing,
Always just a step out of reach,
The dialogue is not a necessity,
For we have a trove of our own words and experience
To attest to the veracity of the scene in question.

(AUTHOR’S NOTE–as I would be justly castigated by my good friend Lawrence Hall if I failed to do so, I made a point of adding the good Yuri’s patronymic .)